


deface the cold with your warmth

by Girukun (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, also mute akaashi, coffee shop AU, future doctor iwaizumi, mentions of bokuaka, my gay heart beats for iwaoi and kuroken, oikawa and iwaizumi have never met
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Girukun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa doesn't notice Iwaizumi from the start; it's hard to see someone buried beneath mountains of textbooks and work while trying to carry out his own profession. It's cold, far too cold, and only when he begins to seek the warmth he needs does Iwaizumi make his presence known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Money is what makes the world go round; it's the very foundation of the earth, Oikawa thinks, bent lazily over the granite counter so graciously provided by his place of occupation. In the past, he'd heard that being a barista was such a _thrilling_ experience, _you get to serve others and learn the arts of making espresso-based drinks, isn't it wonderful?_

It's for money, he reminds himself. College isn't cheap and money doesn't come easy. His parents have long given him the _we can't pay these loans ourselves, Tooru_ lecture, and as such, he finds himself working in a coffee shop four days out of the week. 

"I'd rather whore myself out," Oikawa muses aloud, head balanced in one hand that's moments short from falling asleep. There's twelve minutes until they open up for the morning (he hates mornings) and he can hear the ever-common sound of his coworkers dicking around behind him.

Those in question are Kuroo and Bokuto; he hasn't known them for the longest time, and they haven't known each other for much longer, from what he can tell. Despite this, they do manage to turn _everything_ into a game that they can both enjoy throughout the obnoxious mornings, and Oikawa knows it'd be a lie to say it's not amusing. They're odd, for what it's worth, loud and brash and _odd_. They remind Oikawa of a rowdier version of himself in high school.

(He hasn't mellowed out at all. It's only the morning air making him solemn.)

"That marks the third morning in a row I've heard you say that; really, you should try to be grateful just for making money," Kuroo snorts, fastening an apron round his neck and waist. He has to turn swiftly to stop Bokuto from snipping the ties with scissors.

"Making money shouldn't have to involve getting up so early," Oikawa retorts. He squints, having done anything but moved for a good three minutes, and finally straightens out just to twist and stretch. A sickening pop jolts his back, and he groans.

"If you hate this so much, you should just pose as a camgirl or something. Bet that plenty of creepy old men would love to see Seijou's former captain jacking it on camera."

"I have self-respect, Bokuto."

"How's that any different from whoring yourself out, exactly?"

"Cameras are so gross. It's weird to film other people like that," Kuroo interjects, makes an attempt that's not a real attempt to fix his hair before they open their doors, "Not to mention a little too intimate, right?"

"Double standard. I saw you snap a picture of the fake blond that can't dye his roots worth shit." 

Bokuto manages to catch the plastic cup that is hurled at him in retaliation, and he throws it back at Kuroo just as hard.

"You're both going to scare customers away if you keep it up," Oikawa reprimands through a yawn, makes a vague gesture towards the door. It's morning and he hates mornings, but he has to try his hardest to smile and look _flawless_. It's even easier to recommend more expensive drinks to female customers by doing so, really, when did he become such a thoughtful manipulator? 

Oikawa watches Bokuto bounce around the counter to unlock the door; he doesn't open it just yet as he turns to his two coworkers.

"D'you both know what today is?" he asks, grin wide and splitting. Oikawa stares, fatigued, and Kuroo looks intrigued.

"Today's Tuesday. That means it's number day."

That's all the motivation Oikawa needs to be wide awake.

It's a silly competition, frankly, completely boyish, but his competitive roots don't allow him to lose over anything he's talented at–getting numbers from girls is no different. Oddly enough, it'd started when a tiny high school girl had stepped up to Kuroo with her number clutched in one firm hand (most found both he and his hair too intimidating to be worthy of being approached) and Bokuto had sworn to get two of his own within the next hour. They'd actually put effort into this ridiculous game, so much so that their bet counts had risen to ten when the end of their shifts began hovering near–and Oikawa hadn't been able to resist joining in.

Naturally, he'd received more than twice as many numbers as both of them combined in no longer than a half hour.

Now, it's a _competition_ , something they all attempt to win for several hours out of every Tuesday. Oikawa has never lost, not once, and given that he now spends most of his days studying, he takes that small joy and holds it close. Bokuto and Kuroo receive nearly the same amount of numbers every time, though there's always the occasional loss that comes to Kuroo after he incidentally scares someone away before they can even order.

Oikawa stretches again, rolls his shoulders, threads his fingers through his hair so that it's pleasantly fluffed. "I hope you're both ready to lose."

"Not this time, no, no. I came prepared," Kuroo remarks, turns away for one moment to fiddle with what looks to be a contact case. Bokuto occupies his remaining time with spiking his hair up further, and Oikawa nearly jerks when Kuroo turns around again.

Blue eyes. _Of course._

"I thought appearance modification was against the rules," Oikawa whines, twists to look for disapproval from Bokuto. Kuroo's grinning like the smug bastard he is, and Oikawa's left more mortified than ever before when Bokuto sticks his tongue out and reveals a _piercing_.

"When did you get that?!"

"I've had it, thank you. I just don't have a stud there all the time because it makes me look all... hooligan-ish. I'm taking you _down_ , Tooru. Girls dig this shit."

"I hate both of you. You're unfair. You should be disqualified."

"Are you afraid of losing?" Kuroo taunts, flutters his lashes over the blindingly bright sapphire his eyes now host. Oikawa steps back briefly to make the sure machines are running and his apron is fastened properly while Bokuto kicks the door open and flips their sign to show they're open; he doesn't intend to lose whatsoever. That just isn't how he plays any sort of game.

"I consider that an irrational fear."

\--

The day is agonisingly long and Oikawa finds there is a reason appearance modification _should_ be against the rules. He has no trouble collecting a vast amount of numbers, but both of his coworkers are managing to stay right behind him. 

Bokuto's entire strategy is built upon coming off as sexual as humanly possible; he hadn't been joking when he'd said girls would like that sort of piercing. In the end, Oikawa still makes most of the drinks because Bokuto and Kuroo take too long flirting, they're tactless, inexperienced. It takes nothing more than a relaxed smile and a _have a pleasant day_ for him to receive a hastily written number. 

Still, they play hard and fair. Oikawa's lost count of how many times he's heard girls ask about Kuroo's eyes over the past few hours, and Bokuto manages to put together a series of rather complicated drink orders (courtesy of the lunch rush) even in the midst of their tense battle. 

Oikawa turns when the door chimes again, another customer, and he grins–he can practically _feel_ Bokuto doing the same from their other counter. 

"Shit, Kuroo, you're done for," Bokuto snickers, as silent as he can manage it; their newfound patron is the _fake blond that can't dye his roots worth shit_ and Kuroo makes a considerable leap just to be able to duck behind the counter and remove his contacts in a hurry.

"One of you set this up, _fuck_ –there's no way," Kuroo hisses; Bokuto kicks his side from his respective place at the right counter.

"I'll leave a meaningful testimony at your funeral. You were such a brave tomcat."

"Fuck off. I'll still win this."

"You're both already three numbers behind," Oikawa supplements, smiles in a fashion that's eerily saccharine and threatening at the same time. "Why don't you try to get _his_ number, Kuroo?"

"Are you trying to trick me into giving this up?"

"I don't believe I have to. He'll think you're a huge jerk if he sees you flirting with every other woman in the shop."

Bokuto shushes them both when three more approach the counter, including the little shy one Kuroo likes so much; he rarely lifts his eyes and speaks so quiet it's almost impossible to catch everything he orders. _Small and vulnerable_ , Bokuto thinks, that's Kuroo's type. Something in this guy's air gives him the notion that he isn't anywhere near as vulnerable as he appears.

"...Excuse me?"

_Fuck, he hasn't been listening to the order._

Bokuto opens his mouth to apologise, but he's gracelessly yanked to the floor behind the counter by the aforementioned tomcat, and the small patron starts when Kuroo stands up straight, eyes lazy and grin complacent. "Apologies for my coworker, there. Is there something I can get you?"

"Ah, just... an eggnog latte, please..."

Oikawa does, for once, _help a brother out_ and pins Bokuto to the floor with one leg to prevent any interference into the pitifully inactive romance life Kuroo has, quieting him down with a icy glance. He's been listening to Kuroo go on and on about how cute this faux blond is for _days_ –he'll be damned if he has to go through nine more terrible morning shifts of the same thing. 

Kuroo makes the order with some amount of skip in his step, struts around as if he's the leading peacock of their establishment. Oikawa's surprised to see that the tiny blond is actually watching him. More often than not, his eyes are downcast towards an electronic device.

"And here you are. One regular eggnog latte for the kind customer."

The blond reaches for it, and Kuroo holds it back with a shake of his head.

"On one condition."

"You're being paid, Kuroo, there's no such thing as conditions," Bokuto supplements from the floor, gives a sharp _ow_ when Oikawa kicks and shushes him. Their stranger with the poorly dyed roots looks more than unnerved, and Kuroo goes on as if he'd never been interrupted.

"Tell me your name."

The stranger hesitates; Oikawa thinks he might bolt at any given second with the sudden spotlight he's facing. Their two other long-forgotten customers are watching as if it's a live suspense film.

"You're... Kuro, then?" the boy starts, quieter than usual, even, "It's, um, Kozume Kenma." He leaves his pay, swipes his drink, shuffles out just as awkwardly and silently as he had entered (as well as one can with the annoying door chime). 

Oikawa relinquishes his firm press on Bokuto; the barista wheezes as he pulls himself back up, and they both observe the lovestruck Kuroo for some time.

"Did you hear that? He called me _Kuro_ ," the man breathes, "What a name–Kozume Kenma... he looks a little bit like a kitten up close."

"And here, we see the _man who has not been laid in too long_ in his natural environment," Bokuto offers; Oikawa snickers and Kuroo throws a heavy glare at them both. "Seriously, Kuroo. Are you chasing him or his tail?"

"I bet he never comes back," Oikawa states, returns to his position leant over the counter. Business will start slowing down just before the end of their shift, he knows, and their competition is forgotten for now. "What the hell was that _tell me your name_ move you pulled? Talk about creepy."

"Piss off, both of you. I'd like to see _you_ try and flirt with someone using actual words, Oikawa."

"I don't have to. I was blessed with this beautiful face."

"We'll see how far that gets you when you're an old man," Bokuto retorts, and Kuroo gives a nod just as firm. 

Oikawa groans from where his head is laid against the counter. "Fine. I'll prove I can be smooth with words, too. Go find a customer for me talk to, Bokuto."

" _No girls_ ," Kuroo orders, and Oikawa groans louder. "I'm serious. It's like the entire goddamn human female population is wired to be attracted to you. You have to have a fair and unbiased attempt."

"What about the guy with all the textbooks over there?"

Oikawa turns see who Bokuto's mentioning. He doesn't recall this man ever coming in–maybe he's just quiet–he doesn't recall him ordering anything, either. Seated at a corner table, it is indeed a man drowning in textbooks, papers and studies strewn across the length of the table's surface and even on the ground beside him. His hair is a mess of spikes, Oikawa notes, and he looks irate. "Did either of you see him come in?"

Bokuto shrugs; Kuroo shakes his head.

Their discussions aren't the loudest, so it isn't as if any patrons are honing in on their plans–certainly not one that looks to be in college, just as they are. 

"I feel like he'll murder me on the spot if I interrupt his studies," Oikawa remarks, a small frown set upon his face. 

"D'you hear that, Kuroo? That's the sound of Oikawa bitching."

"It's a sound that grows more frequent every day."

"You're both jerks," Oikawa tosses back, frown deepening. "I don't even know how to approach him. God, what's up with his hair?"

"Maybe he has the natural bedhead look; yours truly will testify," Kuroo muses, and Bokuto rolls his eyes as he hops to sit upon the counter.

"Bedhead my ass. I bet half of your monthly bills are dedicated to hair gel."

"You're one to talk. At least my hair doesn't make me look like the spawn of Cruella de Vil."

"Hey, that's–woah, look, there he goes," Bokuto starts, twisting to see a cautious Oikawa departing from the safety behind the counter. "He's actually going to try it."

"That guy's going to kill him. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so deep into their _textbooks_."

Oikawa manages to remove his apron before approaching; he doesn't want to look like someone slacking off from his work, given that this man looks the sort to work far too hard for his own good. His mind whirs while he walks, and he ends up making the brave decision to pull a chair up to the table currently overflowing with papers.

The man doesn't even glance up.

"What're you studying?" Oikawa asks, gentle; this time, the stranger starts in his seat, breathes out an obscenity and stares back with wide eyes.

"What?"

"I asked what you were studying. You have a lot of... stuff over here, so I was curious." Oikawa finishes his reasoning with a traditionally soft smile. It's one of his most perfected techniques.

The man looks wary; not in the _run away_ sort of fashion, really, he looks as if he wants to tell Oikawa to run away instead. Irate is certainly the best word to describe him. "It's for biology. I'm headed to medical school after college."

 _Medical school_ , Oikawa thinks, _so he's smart._ "I hope you don't plan to be a pediatrician."

"Why's that?"

"You'd scare all the children with that mean scowl. You should try smiling sometime."

Somehow, Oikawa's forgotten his original purpose here was to flirt.

The man doesn't look entirely put off, however; he only grouches something about smiling being a waste of time before returning to his studies. It's silent again, and Oikawa's almost stunned he hasn't been asked to leave. 

He flounders for something else to say. Kuroo comes to mind, and the best he comes out with is, "What's your name?"

The stranger sighs, drops his pencil and offers an exasperated look. "Why are you here?"

"I'm just passing time," Oikawa defends, smiles a little more widely, "and I happen to be interested in knowing the name of such a handsome student."

His nameless patron doesn't look impressed or fazed in the slightest. Again, he lifts his pencil, and turns back down to one of his many textbooks. "I'm not interested–even if I was, I don't have any money."

"I'm not a whore!"

"Could've fooled me," he returns; Oikawa hears Bokuto and Kuroo trying desperately to suppress laughter from back across the shop, and he huffs, petulant.

"If you don't tell me your name, I'm calling you sea-urchin head from now on."

"My little sister's come up with more hurtful insults than that."

"Good. Then I guess you won't mind it, _sea-urchin head_."

The man inhales sharply, exhales in a lengthy fashion, and Oikawa looks up and away before he's met with a forbidding glare. "Hajime. Iwaizumi Hajime."

"Iwa-chan, then."

" _It's Iwaizumi._ "

"It's nice to meet you, Iwa-chan. Since you went to the daunting trouble of telling me your name, I'm Oikawa Tooru."

The stranger–Iwaizumi–glances back down to his papers and gives a nod of acknowledgement. "Shouldn't you get back to work?"

"My shift ended."

"Liar. Your two friends are still watching you like hawks behind the counter. I bet you've got at least ten minutes."

Oikawa huffs just as before, and he feels reluctant to stand but does so anyways; he really can't afford to lose this job on account of trying to flirt with an irritable student. "I'll see you next time you come in, then, _Iwa-chan_."

"I'll break your fucking arm if you keep calling me that."

"I thought doctors were supposed to heal people."

Oikawa skips away before he can hear any sharp retort; after a moment, he realises he's grinning, and his companions behind the counter look some mix of amused and enlightened.

"Oh my _God_ , look at that smile. You _like_ him," Bokuto states, ruffles up Oikawa's hair into a mess as he walks by. "Now we have two lovestruck morons working here."

"I do not. It's just been a while since I've bantered with someone who has a brain."

"Low blow, sister. I'm hurt." Bokuto feigns wiping away a tear and works to begin the removal of his apron. "You still like him. Maybe you'll inspire Kuroo to grow a pair and ask his little blondie on a date."

"Shut up," Kuroo calls from the back; he still looks to agree with his friend on the former statement, however. "So what's his name, Oikawa?"

"It's Iwaizumi Hajime," Oikawa answers just as easily–Bokuto splutters, Kuroo laughs and he then realises his mistake.

"Fuck, I remembered it."

"You couldn't even remember the name of that girl with the _massive_ rack fifteen seconds after she told it to you. You like him."

"This isn't high school. Don't use the term _like_ –it sounds stupid."

"My deepest apologies, Your Highness. You want to fuck him, then."

Oikawa chokes hard on the water he's trying to drink; flirting really is a tasking form of work.

"You want him to fuck you?"

"Bokuto!" 

"Honesty is key. You should just tell him that. He looks all tense and frustrated. Y'know, one of the best ways to relieve tension is through–"

"I'll kill you if you say it; go home, our shifts are over," Oikawa complains. "Don't you have a certain partner of your own to be getting back to?"

"Kei–Akaashi, you mean? He's just a booty call."

"Don't listen to him for a second," Kuroo protests. "I didn't know people bought _flowers_ for their booty calls."

"Put a sock in it. He likes flowers."

"You put a sock in it."

"Both of you put a sock in it and go _home_ ," Oikawa groans, pulling his scarf and jacket tight around his torso. "I don't even get that luxury. I have practice." 

"That's your fault. Nobody said you had to play on Shiratori's college team," Kuroo returns, tugging a hat over his own mess of hair. "Remind me his reasoning again, Bokuto?"

"He said, and I quote, 'I'd feel more satisfied if I could be Shiratorizawa University's volleyball captain instead of the tasteless and aesthetically unappealing Ushijima.'"

Kuroo nods, grins at Oikawa. "Bitterness is a nasty thing."

"Hush up. Like anybody wanted to see Ushijima's gross face flashing by as captain anymore. I don't know how it didn't nauseate everyone in high school."

"Bitterness is a nasty thing," Kuroo repeats, sing-song; Oikawa smacks his shoulder on his way out of the building. 

He finds himself rushing a little more than usual though practice doesn't begin for another hour. Briefly, his mind directs him to Iwaizumi, and he shakes the thought off before it can fester. He's just a soon-to-be medical student; he's probably been there before and Oikawa's only just now noticed him. 

He wonders why he hasn't noticed Iwaizumi until now.

He wonders why he can't _cease_ noticing Iwaizumi.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning feels the same. It's cold, unbearably cold, and Oikawa is the last one to enter the shop before it opens. He refuses to wake at the ungodly hour Bokuto and Kuroo do just to get their favourite breakfast before coming in to work.

When he does enter, he notices Kuroo looks far more lively than usual, and it's disconcerting.

"I've been guessing he got laid," Bokuto offers as Oikawa closes the door behind himself, shrugs his jacket off; Kuroo only shakes his head, smile unwavering.

"You would _not_ believe who I bumped into again last night."

Oikawa allows himself to believe. "You found the pudding boy, didn't you?"

"It was a coincidence, I swear, but–I did it. I asked him if he wanted to get dinner on a whim, and I _really_ did it. I went on a first date that didn't end in sex. I took him back to his house, and he smiled and thanked me for everything. It was nice."

Kuroo expects some amount of enthusiasm, of appreciation, but all he receives are bored looks of dismissal from both Bokuto and Oikawa.

"Are you two seriously shaming this date just because we didn't fuck?"

"Everyone has their own method of doing things, I suppose," Oikawa returns, taking his usual place behind the counter, relaxed, tired. "You talk like it's actually _fun_ to have an innocent date."

"Honestly, Kuroo. I'm saying a prayer for you."

"You two just don't know what romance is like. It's cute. Makes you feel all warm and mushy on the inside even when it's cold outside."

Oikawa yawns, Bokuto grimaces. "Man, you've gotta stop talking like you've just come straight out of a romance novel. That shit'll infect us."

"As if you weren't already infected. How does Akaashi like the never-ending barrage of books and flowers?"

"At least we actually _fuck_."

"So the books and flowers make up for your shitty bedroom performance, then?"

"Shut up for five seconds, both of you," Oikawa groans, rubs his temples gingerly with a hushed whine. "I've been on the verge of a headache all morning. Practice went way too hard yesterday."

Bokuto chuffs as he pulls on his apron, and turns a moment later to ensure Kuroo won't try to cut at his ties instead. "Are you talking about athletics or you being rammed in the equipment closet by Ushijima?"

"It was one time, Bokuto. _One time_."

"If you ever think I'm letting you live that down, you are, in fact, mistaken."

"I'll remember that the next time you want me to help you pick out bouquets for Akaashi."

With that, Oikawa drops his head against the counter to allow himself a moment of rest; it doesn't last long as the door chime rings and he has to reluctantly raise, heaving a sigh. He rarely feels even the slightest tinges of inspiration in the morning.

It's the person who enters that changes that.

"Speaking of being fucked," Kuroo snarks, and Oikawa hits him _hard_ on the arm as he straightens out. He doesn't know how he missed Iwaizumi yesterday; the man is carrying an abhorrent amount of books and journals, barely manages to drop them onto the same table as before. Again, he doesn't order anything at the start, and Oikawa wonders why he's here in the first place.

Bokuto seems to read his mind. "Free internet, maybe?"

"I don't think so," Oikawa quietly replies, eyes narrowed as he studies his newfound interest. "He's mean and rude, but he's calm. Maybe he likes getting out and this is the nearest place–he doesn't really look like he's made much of an effort to look presentable today. I don't think he's had any classes yet, either."

"That kind of observant ability should be illegal," Kuroo states, shaking his head, and Oikawa huffs through his nose.

"At least I didn't take a picture of him."

"Kenma is going to be my _lover_ , thank you. It'll be less creepy then."

"The word _lover_ itself is creepy, Kuroo," Bokuto snorts, and steps forward to his counter when an older patron approaches.

Oikawa's putting considerably less energy into trying to look sweet and cordial this morning; there's not much of a reason to. He'll save it for the lunch rush–it doesn't make sense to waste it when there's hardly anybody to direct it towards.

He does register Kuroo moving to stand beside him, however, and he presumes it's to see Iwaizumi.

"You look totally smitten and all you've done so far is argue with him. Go have a _real_ conversation. I'll take your place."

"I don't like him," Oikawa protests, ignores his own usage of the silly word _like_ , "he's just interesting. In an... angry, abrasive sort of way."

"Right, sure. You should try to be friends with him, then. Doesn't he want to do something medical?"

"So?"

"You're an athlete and you wear a knee supporter. Start a talk with that. Doctors _love_ athletic injuries. You never even found out what made your knee kill you in the first place–even if he's a student, I bet he'll know something."

Kuroo gives him a shove on the shoulder, and Oikawa feels a rare flutter of anxiety bubble beneath his surface. "Go talk to him."

It's only because he hasn't made a new friend in a long time, that's why he's nervous, that's why he hesitates to walk around the counter, hesitates to even look in Iwaizumi's general direction, let alone trot over to him. Iwaizumi hasn't been sitting for long, so when Oikawa approaches, he lifts his head. 

Their gazes meet and Oikawa fights the urge to turn away.

"I figured you'd come say hello again," Iwaizumi remarks, turning past several pages in his largest book. This morning, he looks more tired than irate; Oikawa takes advantage of that and sits closer than he did yesterday. "What is it this time?"

"Nothing in particular. I just thought Iwa-chan might have missed me."

"You have _got_ to stop calling me that."

"Hey, at least I remembered your name."

"Why aren't you using it, then?"

"It's too long and I don't have time for that–everything aside, I did have a reason to be over here. You want to be a doctor, right?"

Iwaizumi sweeps his hand over the mountain of work before him with a deadpan look. Oikawa understands. _Are all of these papers not enough of an answer?_

"No reason to be _snappy_ , Iwa-chan. Can you diagnose injuries?"

"I'm not even in medical school yet."

"You've got six medical textbooks in front of you. I have a feeling you know what you're doing."

Iwaizumi gives a long sigh, runs a hand through his hair, closes one of his books. "Are you trying to skip out on paying for a professional diagnosis?"

"You wound me," Oikawa returns, makes a coy look, "I just wanted to give you some practice."

"Will you leave sooner if I say yes?"

"That's a fair deal."

"Then show me the goddamn problem."

Oikawa reaches to pull the table's last unseated chair closer; he extends his right leg cautiously and rolls the fabric of his bottoms up to his knee. With some reluctance, he pushes his knee supporter down and off of its designated position, and the motion is followed by a sharp exhale when that burdensome pain starts up again. _There isn't even pressure on it_.

Iwaizumi holds a vague look of surprise as he abandons his textbooks for the time being. "You shave?"

"Body hair is the bane of my existence," Oikawa answers, head lolled back while he attempts to tolerate the aggravating throb that's begun around his knee. "Does Iwa-chan have a problem?"

"No, I don't–and stop calling me that. That supporter is a closed patella, right? What'd you do to warrant getting one?"

"I don't know. I never got it checked out."

Oikawa raises his head, and he jolts when Iwaizumi's cold gaze lands firm on him. It's scolding, he can tell; it's easy to figure out what sort of colourful things Iwaizumi wants to say based solely upon his expression. 

"You never got it checked out?"

"I–at the time, I didn't have–stop threatening to kill me with your eyes, Christ, Iwa-chan is mean today. I was in the middle of a tournament when the pain started."

Iwaizumi's hand is on his knee, then, and Oikawa barely refrains from jumping at the abrupt _warmth_. It's suddenly too silent; he feels tense trying to sit still while those fingers rub cautiously around his knee, the crook of his leg, the base of his hamstring. He wants rather badly to make a wisecrack about Iwaizumi's assessment being near lewd–it's the look of earnest concern on his face that stops him from doing so. 

"I've already told you I'm not knowledgeable yet, but my guess would be patellar tendonitis. It'd make sense that a supporter relieves the pain, too. Go see a _doctor_."

"Tell me what that _is_. Not everyone has the time to study six different medical books at once, you know."

"Well, it's not an uncommon injury for those in athletics," he starts. Oikawa finds odd charm in the fact that Iwaizumi pulls his supporter up once more and makes sure it's set properly. "It's a condition of overuse. Too much running, too much jumping and landing–too much stress, essentially. Makes your knee get weak and swell under the force of exertion. Once you get it, it's a little hard to make disappear."

Oikawa doesn't even register the look of relief upon his own face. He knows what's wrong, at the very least. It doesn't occur to him to visit a licensed doctor; Iwaizumi speaks with confidence, knows what he's saying, and Oikawa trusts in that. "And how do you make it disappear, then?"

"Anti-inflammatory diet, physical therapy and a fuckton of careful stretching. Rest comes with that, too. If you don't let it rest long enough after stressing it out, the pain will only come back more prominent each time."

"Explains why it's gotten worse with every year," Oikawa states, frowning like a young child. Iwaizumi swats him over the head, he yelps, and his frown turns into something akin to a pout.

"Take care of it, dumbass. The _worst_ thing any athlete can do is destroy what gives them their ability to play."

"Yes, _mother_ ," Oikawa replies, pretends not to notice the harsh look he is given, "I'll try to work it into a better state. I still have practice nearly every day, so it's not like I can take days of rest."

"Ice it down whenever you can, then–speaking of rest, last time I checked, you _work_ here. You're going to get fired if you keep slacking." This time, Iwaizumi frowns, and makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Go do your job, stupid."

"I'm being covered for, at the moment. I wouldn't slack off if I didn't know what I was doing." Oikawa sticks his tongue out, pulls his leg off of the adjacent chair so he can straighten out in his seat.

"You went to that level of effort just to come bother me?"

"You should be grateful I _am_ bothering you. Nobody else would with how upset you look all of the time."

Iwaizumi looks at him again, an offput glance, and Oikawa only nods.

"See? I haven't even seen you smile."

"You've known me for all of one collective hour."

"Is that supposed to justify your lack of smiling?"

"If I'm going to smile, there needs to be a reason for it," Iwaizumi replies, and rotates a few of the things on his table so he can write something down. "Unlike you, I'm not frivolous."

"That's _rude_ , Iwa-chan. I'm here–isn't that enough reason for you to smile?"

"God, you're annoying. Get back to work. I have to study."

"I will if you tell me one thing."

"And what's that?"

Oikawa does stand, as promised, and simpers curiously. "You never buy anything–why do you come here?"

Though he doesn't know the reason behind it, he can sense the hesitancy Iwaizumi hosts to answer. "I like getting out. It's stuffy to stay in one place all the time."

_Just as he'd thought._

Oikawa is slower returning to his generic spot behind the counter, and he–once again–finds himself smiling a little too widely. He makes a swift effort to stomp it down before either Kuroo or Bokuto can see it.

He fails. They both do.

"Boy, with that look, you would think you'd just been proposed to," Bokuto remarks, approaching from the side with a more than suggestive grin. "What'd you say, huh?"

"I bet he just prodded that guy's buttons again."

"It's his specialty, to be fair."

"You're both horrible," Oikawa retorts, "horrible, horrible–I just let him look at my knee. All I wanted to do was see how well he knows his studies."

"So you let him cop a feel?"

"Shut _up_ , Kuroo. It was your idea for me to talk to him in the first place."

"I'm pretty sure Bokuto was the one that pointed him out."

"Don't blame me for your shortcomings," Bokuto defends, turning on his heel in order to go find more cream. "You were only supposed to try and verbally flirt with him yesterday. Nobody said you had to keep talking to him today."

Oikawa sees Kuroo beam with the words given by his friend, and he immediately regrets having even come in today.

"Holy shit, he's right."

"Don't look at me like that. You pushed me towards him."

"You could've said no. You _wanted_ to talk to him," Kuroo accuses–he's taken on that infuriating smirk he's so infamous for, and it makes Oikawa experience a kaleidoscope of frustration and embarrassment. 

"–so I want to be friends with him, then. That's not a big deal. Kuroo, I swear to God, I'll fucking _maim_ you if you keep grinning like that."

"Hajime and Tooru, sitting in a tree–"

Oikawa ends up ramming his elbow into Kuroo's gut to silence him before anyone else can hear their exchange. Bokuto is an utter fit of barely-muffled laughter, and he realises that he's flushed, blushing–it only makes things worse.

"This is too good. Oikawa Tooru, one night stand extraordinaire, has actually begun to develop real feelings," Bokuto taunts. "I just may lose this bet."

" _Bet_?"

"Kuroo bet me twelve bucks you would start to feel all lovey-dovey. My vote is for you just wanting him to bend you over that table he's always working at."

"Oh my God, you two are the _worst_ ," Oikawa gripes, "When did my romance life become affiliated with your ridiculous antics?"

"So you're admitting it's a romantic situation?"

"Fuck off. It's not. I'm paraphrasing."

"Do you at least want to get into his pants? Just a little bit?"

Oikawa sends the most vexed expression he can manage to Bokuto in response.

"Hey, man, twelve bucks is a lot of money."

"I'm so not helping you win."

"Then you're siding with Kuroo, and he believes in _love_. Gross."

"I believe in it because it exists," Kuroo intervenes; he's still wheezing faintly after taking a blow to his side. "You both probably would too if you'd just go on actual _dates_. Sweet, innocent ones."

Bokuto shakes his head in return, but Oikawa finds that those words linger in his mind for longer than he would care to admit. 

"Help me give it a try, then."

Kuroo turns to look at him with surprise, and Bokuto does the same, though his is more a stunned shock of sorts. "I thought you didn't like–"

"I don't, but I'm going to try it, since neither of you will shut up about dating," Oikawa mumbles, relaxes over his counter, fingers drumming against its surface anxiously. 

It's a lie. He's beginning to learn that dating is less unappealing when his thoughts trail towards Iwaizumi.

He hasn't even known the soon-to-be medical student for more than a day.

"Well, this is a pleasant change," Kuroo starts, grinning smug and lazy. "He still looks pretty busy with all his... whatever he's doing over there. How do you suppose you'll ask?"

"I don't–know, God, it's been years since I've even thought about having a real date," Oikawa huffs. He makes an exasperated gesture with his hands, and Kuroo snickers. "How did you approach your little pudding-haired boy?"

"By being smooth as _fuck_. I nearly made him swoon."

"You're such a fibber."

"Touché. I accidentally ran into him and made him spill his drink, so I offered to buy him another with dinner."

"There's no way I'm spilling scalding coffee on a guy who didn't even order it," Oikawa replies, deflates as he gives a heavy sigh. "Anything else?"

"Well, you haven't known each other long. Try something simple. Bring him a drink with your number written on the side."

"That's too unoriginal."

"Would you rather I suggest you give him a lap dance and striptease instead?"

"Alright, _alright_. He still hasn't ordered anything, though."

"So make it on the house," Kuroo states through a yawn. It's the middle of the day; the shop's very aura is drowsy itself. "Which means it comes out of your paycheck, for the record."

"You just hold Bokuto back from yelling something embarrassing while I'm bringing it to him."

Oikawa feels uneasy, really, which is nonsensical–Iwaizumi should simply be in awe to be receiving attention from a being as gorgeous as himself. That doesn't really occur to him, as much as he would like it to; instead, he worries, fumbles, hopes he doesn't make himself look stupid in the eyes of a future physician just by _making a move_ , so to say.

He doesn't even like Iwaizumi. It's just something he's trying, he reminds himself.

"Take this to him. It may be winter, but iced coffee isn't bad," Kuroo remarks; he pulls away from one machine and passes a loaded cup to Oikawa, complete with a marker. "If he doesn't like it, tell him to eat shit."

"How you ever managed to get a date is beyond me," Oikawa retorts, and for a moment, he hesitates, but soon takes the cup in a delicate hold and jots his number down along the side. He doesn't realise he's been holding his breath until Kuroo gives him a sportive shove.

"Stop worrying so much. It'll be good for you to get some human interaction that isn't either sex or bitching at Bokuto and I."

"Remind me again why I'm friends with you?"

"Because you have _fantastic_ taste in choosing companions. Go give him the goddamn drink."

Oikawa steps forward, allows the encouraging grin Kuroo gives him to calm his nerves; he isn't used to being the one to try and make an impression. He's always been the one approached, the one to _receive_ attention, and he rarely finds himself giving it. His steps back towards Iwaizumi's table are tentative and slow–he has to look at Kuroo twice more for some amount of legible support.

Iwaizumi looks up from his books when Oikawa sets the cup down atop the table. He wants to say a prayer over it, frankly, given it's his one real attempt at showing interest. 

"What's this for?"

"It's free, before you complain," Oikawa replies, releases the cup once it's settled. "If you're going to keep coming here, you should try the drinks, at the very _least_."

Iwaizumi's expression is wary. "Did you poison it?"

"You're so rude, Iwa-chan. I'm hurt."

"You didn't answer the question."

Oikawa pushes out his lips in a manner he knows is endearing; it's as winsome as a pout is apt to get. "If I were really out to poison you, I would've done it yesterday."

"Nice to know you're keeping your options open," Iwaizumi returns; perhaps he's imagining it, surely he is, but Oikawa thinks he sees the faint curve of a smile on the student's lips as he lifts the cup in order to have a drink. "Thank you."

"Is that a _smile_ , Iwa-chan?"

"I–yeah, sure, whatever. Shut up. You're annoying."

" _Rude_ ," Oikawa repeats. He shows a sweet smile of his own, however, and that's all he can give before scampering back to his paid position behind the counter, as he can't truly risk being caught not doing his job. It's then that he _breathes_ , as handing that cup over had been nothing short of tasking.

He stretches over the bar, settles, and Kuroo looks curious. "Well?"

"It went fine. He'll probably see my number in the middle of drinking it. Fuck, what am I doing?"

"Making an effort to show your interest, which is a good thing. Anybody with eyes can tell that you think he's engaging."

"Doesn't necessarily mean I'm attracted to him."

"Give it up already, Christ," Bokuto complains from the side. "Kuroo's lovesickness is contagious. Even _I_ can tell there's something a little different. You don't think this hard about your hook-ups."

"Just let me pretend like I don't care about him or his stupid hair," Oikawa whines, "It's because of you two that this is even on my mind. Your fault, not mine."

"Don't group me in with all of this sappy shit. I'm on another level."

"Books and flowers, Bokuto."

"When did it become wrong to keep your fuck buddy happy?"

"The idea is that sex is the happy factor," Kuroo muses, gives Bokuto a rough pat on the back while moving to a different area to stand. "Hate to inform you, but you aren't far behind us."

"I think you both oughtta stop focusing on me and look at Mister Doctor over there. He's finished with his drink."

Immediately, Oikawa whips around; he doesn't know what to expect. Anger, probably, some amount of annoyance from Iwaizumi, irritation, abashment, _reciprocation_ –

Iwaizumi stands, shuffles his papers into a neat pile, and tosses that damned cup into the nearest wastebin. Moments later, he's gathering everything up, unfazed, and exits through the front door once he has all of his books in hand.

Oikawa stares.

"He didn't even see my number."

The next sound he's welcomed with is both Kuroo and Bokuto falling into _riotous_ laughter, as it seems his misery and failure is thoroughly _hilarious_. They lean hard on each other, and Kuroo wipes away hysterical tears while trying to regain his breath. "Oh, man, that's– _fuck_ , that's so great, I'm so sorry, he failed, you failed. Better luck next time."

Oikawa takes his usual spot of sorrow, lays his head against the counter, gives a long and heady groan. It's unfair–it's _unfairly_ unfair. "There's my one attempt at romance for the century. I'm done for the rest of my life; you both enjoy your future relationships. I'll stick to my one night stands."

"Don't be such a sore loser," Bokuto starts, voice still trembling with the aftershocks of laughter. Oikawa wants to knock that dopey grin right off of his expression, face shamefully buried against his own forearms. "Try again tomorrow. I bet he'll be back."

"I'm not going to try this again!"

"Not this, Tooru. Get the courage to ask him yourself instead of hoping for a little cup to do it for you."

"I don't know how to," Oikawa mumbles in response, silent, humiliated. "He'll just laugh."

"If I remember correctly, some girls used to come to Seijou's matches _just_ to see you. How is it you don't know how to handle offering a date?"

"I never had to offer. Everyone else did it for me–that's the benefit of being a school idol. Iwa-chan doesn't seem like he'd ever want to approach anyone."

"Iwa-chan, huh?"

"Shut up."

Bokuto sighs, though it's accompanied by a crooked smile; he stretches one arm out to give a hard pat to Oikawa's shoulder. "Just give it a whirl tomorrow. If you embarrass yourself, you can quit, and I'll tell him that you were struck by lightning and killed."

"You're not the best motivator," Oikawa responds, frowns, but it softens when he turns to look at his coworker. "What if he says no?"

"He won't. I saw him taking second glances at you."

"That doesn't mean anything. _Everyone_ takes second glances at me."

"There's the conceited Oikawa we all know and love," Kuroo chimes in, rubs Oikawa's shoulder just as Bokuto did beforehand. "These are just your first romantic steps and you're a little caught off-guard. Getting an affinity for someone you've barely spoken to is an odd sensation, I know. Try again tomorrow."

"If it doesn't work tomorrow, I'm really never trying again," Oikawa grumbles; he knows that's not true, as do they all. "And... thank you. Even if you're both aggravating, you mean well."

"I'm aggravating, sure, and so is Kuroo–"

"I prefer the term _unconventional_."

"–but it's not good to see a friend struggle with romantic shit, even if that's gross and I'm totally not into it. We'll make sure this goes well, and if it doesn't, we'll be your housekeepers for a whole month."

Oikawa finds his shoulders rolling with quiet laughter, and he shakes his head, gives a smile that is as rare as it is genuine. "You'd destroy everything before you even got to clean. Don't worry about it. I don't intend for this to go south."

They've hardly known each other more than a year, but Oikawa knows some of his own growth has come at the hands of these two _idiots_ he has had the privilege to work with. They're still loud and brash and _odd_ , but–

"Shift's almost over," Kuroo remarks, fiddles with the ties on his apron, pushes his fringe out of his face as best as he can manage it. His usual grin appears soon enough, triumphant and so very self-assured. "Relax, Oikawa. Everything'll be fine tomorrow; you'll get through to him."

They mean well.

"Yeah," he breathes in return. Briefly, Oikawa wonders just _why_ this irascible man is on his mind to this level, this extent. Iwaizumi's done nothing but grouse, be irritated, standoffish, argue and banter, look handsomely annoyed, he's smiled once, helped Oikawa soothe his knee–nothing at all, really. He's done nothing.

_He's done nothing_ , Oikawa thinks, ruminates, _yet I have him at the forefront of my mind_.

He's done plenty. 

"–yeah," Oikawa reiterates, "tomorrow will be fine."


	3. Chapter 3

Tomorrow turns out to be anything but fine.

Oikawa first finds that the heater in his flat is near broken when he wakes, doesn't listen properly when he attempts to turn it on, and soon has the audacity to not work at all. His only saving grace is the sun; it's not below freezing, and there's more than enough direct sunlight in contrast to the previous month of blanketing snow and white skies. That still doesn't prevent a winter of its own from starting within the walls of his apartment.

He's left gawking at a half-frozen bottle of water standing on his kitchen counter in the midst of trying to get ready for the day.

Per the norm, he takes to primping his appearance far before anything else. The mirror sitting in his bathroom finds a way to mock him when he approaches in order to brush his hair–or what he would normally call his hair, really, it's a terrible mess this morning, Oikawa isn't even able to easily style it into submission. Truthfully, he can't begin to recall the last time he's experienced such heavy bedhead, and he thinks about Iwaizumi, about what Iwaizumi will think of it. Iwaizumi doesn't need to see him maintaining such an _unprofessional_ look. He doesn't want Iwaizumi to see him in this state, doesn't want Iwaizumi to see his _hair_ in this state–

"No," Oikawa says, loud and concise. He frowns at his reflection, and his reflection frowns right back. "I don't care what Iwa-chan thinks. It's fine, I'm fine, my hair is fine. It doesn't matter."

It matters. He spends just under a half hour coaxing his hair into a condition of decency.

Not even five minutes after doing so, he receives a call informing him that practice is canceled for _three days_ at the hands of some member-related mishap; naturally, his first instinct is to blame Ushijima, and he makes a note to interrogate the beast later as he pulls on a pair of shoes and wraps a scarf tight round his neck. As of the current moment, there's more important issues to be dealt with.

The largest problem happens to be his car, buried deep beneath the snow and ice of the previous evening–it's near hard to recognise even the outline of the vehicle under such heavy weather.

He's been awake for all of one hour and he already wants to go back to bed.

Oikawa begrudgingly wastes another twenty minutes attempting (and failing) to free his automobile from the clutches of winter after stepping outside.

In the end, he's walking to work, freezing, tired, hair mussed, and he knows he's going to hear it for being nearly a half hour late; that thought alone gives him a rather irked start to his day. Nobody dares to walk directly past him down the sidewalk with the expression of vicious despondency he's wearing.

Again, he thinks of Iwaizumi. He'll be there today, certainly, he's been there two days in a row, and Oikawa prays briefly he won't. If he's going to bother approaching the grouchy student for a _date_ , he's going to look his best, feel his best.

Not that it matters. He's just trying it once. He doesn't even like Iwaizumi and his gruff voice and rare smiles. 

Not one bit.

"I don't like him," Oikawa repeats to himself, frowns deeper as his walking pace quickens. "No, Tooru. You don't like him. You don't like anyone–other than yourself, of course, which is reasonable. Don't let this morning get even worse. You don't like–"

He runs into someone _hard_ while turning the corner towards his place of occupation, and he whips around, livid, ready to snarl, though it's likely his fault for having been so engrossed in a personal conversation. 

A familiar face stops him from doing so.

In all actuality, it's not a familiar face–it's a face Bokuto has described countless times (Oikawa has always found difficulty in ignoring Bokuto due to the sheer volume of his voice) and he matches it to the picture that has sat within his mind for a considerable while. That same face appears unsettled after their collision; distressed, even, given its owner has dropped things to the ground, and Oikawa bows.

"Akaashi Keiji," he breathes, gives a practiced smile that is almost delighted as he bends down to help gather fallen books off of the cold sidewalk. The feeling of guilt is minimal. It's hard not to remain wrathful after his too-eventful morning. "I'm friends with your... I know Bokuto. You'll have to forgive me for not looking where I was going; this morning's been a mess. I'm Oikawa Tooru."

Akaashi looks grateful to receive help with gathering his things back up–he gives a lax smile that Oikawa remembers Bokuto speaking of and bows cautiously, dark hair strewed with the biting breeze winter so kindly provides.

He then straightens out, makes a series of symbols with lithe hands, too swift, and Oikawa blinks once, twice.

Akaashi pauses, tilts his head, and Oikawa then sees amusement dart across his expression for the briefest of moments. He points to his own mouth, his throat, gives a simple shake of his head. Oikawa understands.

_I'm mute._

"I didn't expect that," Oikawa admits, taken aback, intrigued. "Bokuto never mentioned it, the dick, but he still talks plenty about how thoughtful and intelligent you are, and... here, come on. I assume you're on the same route I am to go see him, yes?"

Akaashi nods, and Oikawa smiles bright and blinding. For the meantime, he can forget the previous events of his morning; he's entertained Bokuto's own prattling about this young man for months, now, and it is indeed somewhat of a relief to finally come across him. Their stroll to the shop is quiet–Oikawa doesn't speak, merely takes to carrying several of Akaashi's books for him in light of having previously knocked them to the ground. 

The coffee shop feels sweltering compared to the outside air when he steps inside, thanks Akaashi for holding the door for him. In an instant, once the novels have been settled, he removes his scarf and jacket and takes a glance behind the counter to see if Bokuto and Kuroo are even doing their jobs while he isn't around; Kuroo gives him a look of ill humour, a _why the fuck are you so late_ sort of expression–the spotlight drops from his presence when Akaashi approaches the counter, however.

Bokuto is, has been and always will be horrendously loud, Oikawa thinks, so it's somewhat of a shock to the senses to watch him communicate through silence. Instead, he's using sign language, the same sort Akaashi had originally tried to speak to him with, and he doesn't need to wonder why Bokuto does so even when Akaashi can hear him without fault.

It's for Akaashi's comfort, not his own.

Kuroo looks no less bewildered (Oikawa surmises he hasn't seen Akaashi much himself) to witness their silent exchange; after a good, solid minute, Akaashi offers a modest smile and presses over the counter in order to give the easily-endeared Bokuto a kiss. It's reciprocated sweetly and Oikawa turns to look towards Kuroo, exasperated, hopes for some amount of explanation. Kuroo only shrugs and gives him the same dumbfounded gape.

Akaashi parts, goes to sit down at a table beside the window, opens one of his many novels Oikawa assumes Bokuto has been providing for him. Again, he looks reserved, quiet, composed; hardly akin to the man that had been smiling so widely moments before.

Oikawa hasn't moved from their place of entry since he's come in. He watches Kuroo lean against the counter, inhale sharply and finally manage to grit out an articulate, "What the fuck, Bokuto." 

It's more of a statement than a question.

"What?"

"The hell was–I'm sorry, a _fuck buddy_? Is that what you call him?"

"There's no way it's that simple," Oikawa supplements, finally does make his way around the counter to take his respective place; right now, that's at Kuroo's side, leering Bokuto down. "You're more affectionate than both of us combined."

"–and when did you even learn sign language, for that matter?"

"Woah, woah–cool it, both of you," Bokuto defends, raises his hands in surrender, "I wasn't kidding. We're not dating, it's–we're close, that's all there is to it. I spent a few months studying up on sign language so we could talk the same way. It felt rude to use my voice when he couldn't use his own."

Kuroo looks as if his figurative feathers have been ruffled, and Oikawa bows his head so he can rub his temples, the bridge of his nose, _Bokuto's really giving him a headache._

"Bokuto," Oikawa begins, dangerously terse, "you learned an entire language for him–an uncommon one, at that–and he has at least five new books over there."

"And he's got your coat," Kuroo remarks, jabs his thumb in Akaashi's direction. "Don't think I can't recognise it just because you haven't worn it in a while. That tells me he was at your place overnight."

"Like I said, we're close."

Kuroo heaves a sigh; Oikawa rolls his eyes and steps away to serve an approaching patron. 

"Bokuto."

" _What?_ "

"If you don't make things serious with him before the day's over, I swear to _God_ –"

"Haven't I said I'm not interested in a relationship?"

"You're already in one," Oikawa interjects. He doesn't hesitate even a moment to cuff Bokuto over the back of his head, and it's rather easy to ignore the yelp he receives for doing so. "The only thing that separates you and him from being like the rest of this godforsaken romance-driven world is your lack of titles."

"And it's way cowardly that you wouldn't put a name to whatever's between the both of you. Nobody kisses their partner all cute-like and then says it's nothing official."

"Alright, you two are _not_ the sort of people who should be giving love advice," Bokuto retorts. He's frowning in a manner that might otherwise be intimidating were it not for the resemblance it holds towards a pout. "You don't even have your own shit together."

"I do, as a matter of fact. I have another date with my kitten this weekend." Kuroo smiles, satisfied, and points at Oikawa instead. "It's him that's falling behind."

Oikawa finds two pairs of censorious eyes on himself, then, and furrows his brow. "Hey, no, I'm not taking criticism today. My morning's been bad enough already without the both of you picking on–"

"Maybe this guy will be the one that gets Oikawa to stop screwing with Ushijima before that animal _breaks_ him."

"It was _one time_!"

"One time doesn't make you limp after every other practice. He's gonna shatter your pelvis, one of these days."

"Who I sleep with is my business," Oikawa returns, ignores Kuroo's _it's everyone's business when you've been around the block_ and tosses his hair before settling down at the counter once more. "And maybe I'm not falling behind. Maybe I just want that from Iwa-chan, too."

"He's definitely a candidate for your bedroom," Bokuto decides, narrows his eyes while he studies Oikawa.

"And what's the criteria for that?"

"Tan, angry, looks like he hates you, could probably pick you up and snap you in half if he wanted to in spite of your height. You're easy to please."

"I hate you," is his weary reply of choice, head bowed against the surface of the counter while he awaits the next dreaded customers that will find it in themselves to bother him.

"Don't listen to him, Oikawa. He hasn't even made a real move on Akaashi yet." Kuroo directs the next person over to his own counter, steps back to make what they've ordered so he can throw a disapproving glance in Bokuto's direction.

"I've made _plenty_ of moves, thank you–it's just that none of them would be suited for the public eye."

"Okay, one–gross, and two, that doesn't count. It's easy to fuck. I'm talking about the tangible stuff." It's then that Kuroo raises his left hand, grins like a madman while he gestures towards his ring finger. "Like that. That's where you're headed. You're just in denial."

Bokuto reacts the same way to the prospect of marriage much like any other young man generally does; wrinkles his nose, makes a show of shuddering in repugnance. "No way in _hell_. Never. I said I wasn't looking for a relationship, and we're not in one."

"Bokuto has somewhat of a point," Oikawa remarks, still bent and relaxed against his portion of the counter. He doesn't want to move and he doesn't plan to anytime soon. "Marriage often ties people down in their sexual youth. It's so anticlimactic."

Kuroo huffs hard through his nose. "You probably like being tied down, so I don't wanna hear it. Stay on my side, would you?"

"All of that aside, he still has a point. Even if he actually loves Akaashi and just doesn't want to admit it like the stubborn toddler he is."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room," Bokuto gripes, though he's cut off before he can say anything more–

"We're going to make a pact," Kuroo starts, sudden and bold. "All of us. A deal. A plan. It'll work for everyone's favour in the end and give us all perspective, at the very least. At the most, romantic futures."

Oikawa can't say he isn't curious. "What kind of plan?"

"A serious one, I mean. Like, ring-on-the-left-hand serious–in the future, obviously, not now, but that's not important."

Kuroo takes a long breath, points to himself, to Oikawa, to Bokuto.

"No attempted sex with our persons of interest until there's been an established relationship for one whole _month_. Nothing but pure, sweet romance until then. The furthest any contact can go is kissing and touching above clothing. That's it."

"You couldn't pay me," Oikawa starts; he's too appalled by the proposal to even realise Bokuto says the exact same thing. "I love myself far too much to let a relationship last that long without sex."

"Neither of you even _have_ a relationship yet, quit whining," Kuroo retorts, miffed.

"I would _never_ –"

"I think you're both just scared by the thought of a partnership that isn't entirely dependent on physical intimacy."

Oikawa stiffens.

Kuroo's staring at him as he says it.

\--

_"Another one," Oikawa says, voice hoarse and heavy, "that didn't work out. Not that I should be surprised. It's the fifth in a row. You'd think they'd get easier with every attempt I make, but–"_

_He shudders, inhales cautiously from where he's seated at Kuroo's kitchen table, alcohol clutched tight within the grip of his right hand. They haven't known each other long, but it's the fifth time that he's ended up here, wallowing, drinking his sorrows away. Oikawa knows that he will receive absolute hell for it at his next practice._

_Kuroo doesn't tell him that it'll be okay, that it's just the fault of those he interacts with. "What're you doing wrong?"_

_"It's the sex," he answers, voice a slurred blubber while he dips his head down to rest on the table. "I know it is. I knew it was the first time, but I'm still trying that from the start. You'd be amazed at how quickly you can figure out a person's motives for staying around you when you don't want to just–to just fuck. They're gone the next day. They always are."_

_"So stop making it about fucking from the start. Stop picking up every guy you possibly can all in the span of one day. It's not healthy. It's not good for you."_

_"Can't stop," Oikawa retorts. It's succinct and simple. "I like the sex–I love it. I need it. I can't just–I need..."_

_Kuroo stares him down while he fumbles with his drink, finishes it off in two heavy swigs. He laughs, then, drunk and broken and so very feeble._

_"The attention. I need the attention."_

_"You don't need the attention," Kuroo states; he hadn't even paused for breath with Oikawa's answer. "You want the attention. There's a difference. Desire and necessity are on two entirely opposite ends of a long, long spectrum, and you just haven't figured that out yet. You don't need it. You don't need to be this flighty, either. That's another desire."_

_"But–"_

_"What you need, Oikawa, is someone that likes you."_

_Oikawa shivers again, almost lurches when a bout of nausea twists in his stomach. He's never held his liquor well. "Isn't love more serious?"_

_"Not always. Love is a given. People can be with one another and love each other, too, but..."_

_Kuroo trails off for some time, soon raises his hand so he can make a dismissive gesture with it._

_"That doesn't mean they like each other," Oikawa finishes. He smiles, but it isn't a happy one. "I don't think I was ever destined to be liked, Kuroo."_

\--

"You like Iwaizumi, it's obvious," Kuroo says, dovetails his arms over his chest in a gesture of indignation. "And I'm willing to bet all of Bokuto's life savings he likes you too. I'm making this pact official for all of us."

"You don't know that," Oikawa protests, weak-willed; he's always been confident, smug, yet it falters when the very thought of Iwaizumi enters his mind. "It could just be fleeting infatuation, most of the time, it is–"

He stops when Kuroo passes him by, claps him hard on the shoulder, gestures out to the building's nearest window. Oikawa almost doesn't recognise that walking figure unaccompanied by its usual mountain of textbooks and journals, but once he does, his fingers begin a rather anxious rhythm of drumming against his counter's surface.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," Bokuto snorts, and Kuroo shows likely the most encouraging grin he's ever been able to offer.

"Do me a favour and don't fuck this one up, Tooru."

Oikawa jumps when both men pat his back, then, straightens out as quickly as possible once Iwaizumi steps inside their little shop. The very fact that he doesn't have all of his work today–that he's _approaching_ the counter–makes Oikawa go rigid from where he's standing.

Briefly, he wonders if Iwaizumi's come to beat him up for no particular reason. 

That would make sense, at the very least.

"Iwa-chan," he starts, inwardly smacks himself for it, _why's he saying anything at all_ , "where's all of your books? It's the first time I've seen you empty-handed."

Oikawa finds himself, his pattern. He leans against the counter, smiles slowly, puts on a show like he's entirely intrigued just by Iwaizumi's presence. He is, really, truthfully; it'd be a shame to make that seem genuine, though. For a moment, Iwaizumi looks surprised, like he can't quite figure out why Oikawa is speaking to him.

Truth be told, Oikawa can't figure that out himself.

"I'm running errands," Iwaizumi returns, hesitant and guarded. Once more, their gazes meet, and Oikawa doesn't allow embarrassment to force his movements. "I want whatever it was you gave to me yesterday. It was good."

"Poison and all?" he asks, gives a soft laugh when Iwaizumi glowers. "That'll be fine. Kuroo, would you–"

"Here you are, sir," Kuroo intervenes; like he'd assumed Iwaizumi would ask for it, the drink is made, and he pushes Oikawa aside to set it down on the counter that keeps them separate. "It's on the house again, too–under one solid condition."

Oikawa knows he might roll his eyes, generally; laugh, even, given that Kuroo's infamous for customer-based propositions. Instead, he near shrieks and attempts to take Kuroo to the _ground_ –Bokuto grabs him, wrestles him still and grins wickedly simply because he knows what's coming.

"Take this guy out on a date, for the love of God, he's been swooning over you since you first came in," Kuroo continues, gives a mere smile in return to Iwaizumi's look of astonishment. "He'll tell you different, but I know what's best for him–"

"You're a _dead man_ , Kuroo," Oikawa barks; Bokuto's on the floor after taking a sharp elbow to the nose, and their customers are glancing over to see what their commotion might be. Kuroo only takes a step back, nods at Iwaizumi again.

"His favourite place is the ice cream shoppe across the street, believe it or not. Take him there."

Oikawa manages to shout something akin to _I'll kill you_ ; he's far too into chasing Kuroo around behind the counter, really, and it takes him a moment to register the sensation of a firm hand stopping him by the arm, gripping, holding. 

Kuroo escapes only because it's Iwaizumi stopping him. Oikawa isn't able to do much other than stare, breathless and flushed from his bout of abashment, arm burning where Iwaizumi's fingers are curled around it.

"What's–when do you... when's your next day off?"

Oikawa doesn't reply until he's managed to gather himself. "Why?"

Iwaizumi releases his arm, fumbles briefly to take the cup he'd ordered a few minutes ago. The air feels unbearably tense and Oikawa is a tad too aware of the sound of his own breathing. 

"The ice cream shoppe," he starts, hoarse and awkward, "I'd like to take you there. Whenever you're free, that is. You shouldn't keep slacking."

For the first time in years, likely, Oikawa finds himself incapable of giving a snide reply.

"Oh, it's... tomorrow," he pushes out with an exhale. "I don't have practice, either, um–if it's alright, I could use some help with my knee, too. Learning the proper stretches. I don't know them very well."

Iwaizumi clears his throat, glances downwards, gives a short nod. "That'd be fine."

Oikawa smiles, and he knows it's authentic. He can tell Iwaizumi knows it too.

"Give me your arm, Iwa-chan."

It's evident Iwaizumi doesn't need to ask what it's for. Oikawa swipes a marker, feels a rush of appreciation near overwhelm him when he takes the arm that the student extends. Iwaizumi has strong hands, calloused palms, and Oikawa tries not to think too hard about that while writing his number over the curve of his wrist.

"And it's in permanent marker, so you're not allowed to change your mind. Precautionary measures first."

Iwaizumi gives a lengthy sigh in return. Oikawa still sees fondness dart behind eyes when he glances at the newfound writing upon his arm. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he replies, pulls the sleeve of the hoodie he's currently wearing down to cover his arm again.

"I was hoping Iwa-chan might stay here longer today, but you're just as tactless as you seem, aren't you?"

"It'd be a real shame for you to show up to a date with a broken nose."

"On a date with the one that broke it, nonetheless. Go get your errands done; I don't want you doing anything tomorrow but focusing on me."

Three days, he's known Iwaizumi. They've been a fun three days, filled with apprehension and curiosity, and Oikawa exhales when Iwaizumi takes his drink, gives a small wave when he leaves the shop. This time, the chime of the door isn't an unpleasant noise.

He doesn't hear laughter from Bokuto or Kuroo; not a single childish remark. Bokuto is tending to his own bleeding nose, grouching about how bony Oikawa's elbow is, and Kuroo's grin has grown impossibly wider from where he stands, safely ten feet away.

"I told you he liked you."

"You're still a dead man," Oikawa reiterates. "Make sure your windows and doors are locked tonight."

"Hey, I _handled_ that. You should be thanking me for getting you that date."

"I could've done it myself!"

"You would've just riled him up until he decked you in the face."

"Iwa-chan would _never_ hit my beautiful face–furthermore, when did I ever tell you that ice cream shoppe was my favourite?"

"You didn't. I've seen you head over there almost every day after your shift ends," Kuroo replies, shrugs simply. "And I'm sure you two would enjoy splitting a sundae or something. Just make sure you buy it as compensation for the fact that he has to go on a date with you."

"Don't flaunt your envy so much, Kuroo."

\--

It's late in the evening when Oikawa begins to wonder just when his life had become so uneventful.

Bokuto had caved and invited Akaashi out to dinner, and he doesn't even need to guess that Kuroo's off somewhere with his little pudding-headed companion. Practice remains canceled; there's no Ushijima for him to aggravate, nothing to do at nighttime during the winter. The only meaningful thing he'd done at all today outside of work was calling an electrician up to come fix his heater.

The electrician hadn't even been attractive. He was disappointed.

"This is such a crock of shit," Oikawa says to nobody in particular; he's curled up atop his sofa, tucked beneath a blanket, avoiding homework, making some kind of vague attempt to watch a romantic comedy playing quietly on the television.

It would be far easier if he weren't taking glances at his phone every fifteen seconds.

Iwaizumi is ridiculous, he thinks, taking his number and then waiting all of these agonising hours to even put it to good use. It's cruel, unfair and some amount of humiliating, really, so Oikawa makes a note to let his phone ring a few moments when Iwaizumi does call.

_If_ he does.

"He'll call," Oikawa tells himself, puffs air upwards from his lips to blow his hair out of his face. "You're too pretty for him to not call. God, Tooru, you're such a catch. Have a little more faith in yourself."

The background music on the television changes, and Oikawa turns to see its subsequent event unfold. The protagonists are kissing, now, and he lets his head loll against his hand, wonders why he even watches such predictable films in the first place.

_I... wish I'd kissed you sooner._

_I wish I'd done the same._

Oikawa stares a little longer than he wants to.

_I love you, y'know. I probably should've said that sooner, too, but–_

_Don't apologise. I love you too._

"You have to like each other, too," Oikawa remarks, voice silent within the largely empty walls of his flat. He speaks to the television as if it'll reply, but he knows it won't, so he'll leave it at that.

He wonders if Iwaizumi is going to like him.

Iwaizumi calls, then, and Oikawa answers his phone before it can ring longer than a split second.

"You took _ages_ , Iwa-chan," he immediately whines, puts forth as much offense and indignation as he can manage, "I was going to go to bed soon thinking that you'd just given up on me and didn't have any real interest."

"Shut up," is the reply he hears, and it makes him a tad happier than it probably should. "I told you earlier I was running errands."

"Buying flowers for me, I hope." Oikawa flutters his eyelashes on instinct until he realises he's speaking over the phone.

"In your wildest dreams. Not on the first date."

"Ooh, I didn't think you'd admit it was a _date_. That's so straightforward of you, Iwa-chan."

"Just," Iwaizumi pauses and Oikawa ensures his soft giggle is audible, "tell me your address and when you want me to pick you up."

"You're not really thinking about driving in this weather, are you?"

"I meant walking. I'll come over to your place and–"

"Escort me, huh? Romaaantic. I'm impressed."

"God, I need some aspirin. You're giving me a headache."

Oikawa laughs quietly. It's not like Iwaizumi's said anything funny, but he's amused, so he tells the irritable student his address and reminds him to save his number.

"Pick me up at one in the afternoon," he offers, then, a smile kept secretive on his face. "I don't like getting up early in the morning if I don't have to."

"Interesting. I'm a little more of a morning guy myself."

"I wouldn't have guessed you were an _anything_ guy, Iwa-chan. You seem like you hate a lot of things."

"You're definitely one of them," Oikawa hears grumbled in response, and his smile grows.

"You could never hate someone as beautiful as me."

" _Goodnight_ , Oikawa."

"Wait, wait, I'm not in bed," Oikawa protests. He ignores Iwaizumi's sigh, stands and rushes to turn the television off before padding away to his bedroom. His phone is set down for only a moment so he can indeed throw himself atop the mattress, burrow beneath the covers, and when he picks it up again, Iwaizumi's still there.

"Nooow I'm laying down. You can't tell someone goodnight in an improper setting. Are you in bed, Iwa-chan?"

"I've still got some studying to do."

"Iwa- _chan_ ," Oikawa complains; Iwaizumi's responsive groan makes him grin. "It's late. You'll need your beauty sleep if you want to look right standing next to me tomorrow."

For a minute, Oikawa doesn't hear anything other than Iwaizumi shuffling around and grouching about how much of a pain in the ass he is.

"Go to bed, dumbass."

"Did you just... get into bed?"

"I'll finish my studying tomorrow, I guess," Iwaizumi says, and Oikawa pretends he isn't endeared when he hears a yawn. "It got you off my back, didn't it?"

Oikawa can't recall the last time his chest felt this light. "I suppose it did."

"Then get some _sleep_ , stupid. I know you had to get up early to work today, and I don't want you to pass out tomorrow."

He laughs again, one final, gentle time for the evening, and clutches his phone a little tighter. 

"Goodnight, Iwa-chan."

"Rest well. I'll see you at one."

Oikawa dozes off imagining that he and Iwaizumi are the actors in that romantic movie.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who's excited for me updating after like a year lol

Oikawa's morning begins with an unwelcome visit and break-in.

 

"I'm here to ensure that you don't fuck things up," is what Kuroo tells him, seated atop his bed with the most casual expression he's yet to manage. It isn't even noon, Oikawa notes, so he promptly shows Kuroo the bird and pulls his blankets over his head.

 

"You couldn't have broken into my apartment past noon, at least?"

 

"Hey, I don't know when your little gathering is. All I know is that you've got a long track record of ruining first dates, so I'm gonna prevent that."

 

"I'm still not quite past the fact that you _broke into my apartment_ ," Oikawa grouses, rolls over onto his stomach. "How did you even get in?"

 

"Kenma picked the lock for me."

 

"Your little kitten's a delinquent?"

 

"Too smart for his own good, more like. He got me into your phone, too–you talked to the angry doctor for a good few minutes last night, huh?"

 

Oikawa raises from the mattress only so he can snatch his phone from Kuroo's hold; he makes the extra effort to smack his shoulder on his way back down. "I just gave him my address and we set up a time. It's not like we had phone sex."

 

"You'd be breaking our pact if you did," Kuroo complains. "Don't even entertain the idea."

 

"You're not really going through with this whole pact thing, are you?"

 

Kuroo stares him down and Oikawa figures that, yes, he's really going through with this whole pact thing.

 

"None of us are allowed to get off on anything but our own right hands. Think of it like being a woman trying to maintain her precious virginity for the evening of consummation following her wedding."

 

"You're such a creep," Oikawa retorts, brow furrowed tiredly all while he tries to bask in the horrid feeling of morning consciousness. Waking up before noon is practically a curse. He sits up, considers making a vague attempt to stretch–

 

The presence of another person atop his bed makes him jerk on the spot.

 

"Oh, right. Kenma, this is Oikawa," Kuroo begins, gestures between both men with a content smile. "He's really smug and conceited but a lot of fun to be around–and he has a lot of romance problems, too–"

 

"I don't know what you see in him, but I hope it works out," is Oikawa's sleepy offer. Kenma smiles, a look of silent humour, and Kuroo huffs in evident offense. "If you'll excuse me, I have a date to get ready for."

 

"Not before we establish some rules," Kuroo interjects; he pushes Oikawa back to lay down once more and ignores the groan of annoyance he receives for doing so. "First things first–no more sleeping with Ushijima."

 

"I wouldn't do that while dating another guy, Christ, I'm not that mindless."

 

" _Ever again_ , Oikawa."

 

This time, Oikawa hesitates. It's short-lived. "How come?"

 

Kuroo sighs long and hard. Oikawa's hit with a sudden wave of embarrassment, of shame, and he huffs through his nose to show his displeasure.

 

"You know as well as I do that it's just not good for you," Kuroo says, then, and Oikawa fidgets with his blanket. "Furthermore, you'd only come crawling back to Ushijima if your date didn't work out, and that's not gonna happen. He's the guy you fool around with when you're upset, I know. The idea here is that Iwaizumi's gonna prevent you from getting upset, right?"

 

"I'd like to think so," Oikawa admits, soft, delayed. "But what if–"

 

"No negative scenarios. You'll cross those bridges if they ever come up, but right now, it's time to be positive. Next rule–no sexual remarks, gestures or advances made towards your date unless he makes one first. Keep it clean, would you?"

 

"Is this about the stupid pact?"

 

"Yes, it's about the stupid pact," Kuroo sniffs. "Sexual jokes turn into sexual acts, and that's not what you need. Don't forget that conversation we had a good year ago."

 

"I know," Oikawa gripes, allows his self-frustration to roll off of him while he sits back up. "I don't plan to mess this one up."

 

When Oikawa lifts his head, he realises Kuroo's smiling, and it offsets him even more. It's incredibly hard to feel any amount of joy this early in the morning. "What's with the face?"

 

"I'm happy for you," Kuroo returns. It's honest, sincere. "You've never looked this smitten over anyone else. He must be pretty nice, huh?"

 

The remark makes Oikawa's ears blossom red; he can feel it, and he isn't quite sure why he's flustered, but he is and that's unavoidable. 

 

"Iwa-chan's nice enough, I guess," he replies. After a moment, he feels the urge to smile, and he doesn't fight it back. "He's thoughtful."

 

"You'll be married to each other before the end of the year, I'm sure. Now, for rule three–"

 

"I'll be fine," Oikawa protests; he does finally push up off of the bed and stand, rolls his shoulders, paces over to his dresser and begins to gently rifle through it. Experience has taught him that an outfit ought to be chosen for the day long before the process of getting ready. It's one of the many deciding factors in exactly how he styles his appearance.

 

He wonders if it's normal for someone to care so much about their looks. The concern is shrugged off within seconds.

 

"You'd really better not mess this up," Kuroo says, and Oikawa can hear the underlying caution in his tone. "I've never seen you look so... at peace before. Do it right with this guy, yeah?"

 

"You don't need to worry over me like a concerned mother, Kuroo. It'll go smoothly. You just go get Kenma a treat for making him conspire with you to break into my apartment."

 

"And your phone, don't forget, which reminds me–Iwaizumi texted you. I might've accidentally read it on purpose."

 

Oikawa doesn't know if he's ever rushed over to his phone faster in his life. Kuroo snickers, but he's given an encouraging nod before both he and Kenma take their leave–just as he'd been told, he'd read the message. Kuroo had even taken the liberty of saving Iwaizumi's number and labeling it _tooru's future husband probably_ , and Oikawa rolls his eyes, but he's smiling the whole time.

 

He doesn't change it, either.

 

Iwaizumi's text is simple. _It's going to be really cold today so don't hesitate to bundle up_ , he reads, and his smile grows a little more. Oikawa doesn't quite know if it's pleasant to nearly be babysat, but he decides that if it's Iwaizumi hounding him, it's not so bad.

 

The matter of deciding what he's going to bundle up in won't be easy.

 

Oikawa inhales, exhales and takes his time continuing to go through his dresser, his closet; he hasn't been on a legitimate date in years, so he wants what he wears to count. It's not exactly ideal for a college student to spend a vast majority of their earnt money on clothing, certainly, but he isn't about to change his ways. Appearances always come first.

 

"I wonder what his favourite colour is," he remarks softly to himself while poised in front of the mirror. If Iwaizumi were exactly as plain(ly handsome) as he appeared, it'd be something like black or white, Oikawa knew–he wonders why he's putting so much thought into a date occurring at a little ice cream shoppe. 

 

He decides to save the stress and agony for a more formal date and dons a sweater, leggings and the thickest coat he's able to find lying around. It's beige, what he believes to be one of the worst colours ever invented, but it's always looked nice on winter coats. 

 

Iwaizumi probably isn't thinking nearly as hard about this–this _date_. Oikawa shouldn't be, either.

 

"We're just going to get desserts," he says to himself, repeats it as if it's some kind of prayer, a mantra. "Don't let any nerves get to you. You're gorgeous, he's lucky and everything's going to be just fine."

 

His phone buzzes, and Oikawa nearly drops it to the floor in his hurry to unlock it.

 

_I'll be there in twenty minutes._

 

Oikawa tries to figure out just when the clock had turned to twelve-forty. Readying himself wasn't exactly a short task, but he hadn't imagined the time would fly so swiftly.

 

"Twenty minutes," he breathes, sits back down on his bed. It's surreal; going on a date itself is surreal. Oikawa's far too used to the rhythm of one night stands and morning regrets. He hasn't considered putting an end to that until now.

 

He wants to put an end to it for good, frankly. He won't have a chance with Iwaizumi otherwise.

 

The next fifteen minutes are spent on settling his hair into a proper state and position. Oikawa's always had some sort of natural, fluffed look with it; it's still never enough to satisfy him, so he brushes it over and over again until it looks beautifully windswept, entirely unpurposeful. It's one of his best features, and he intends to flaunt it well.

 

He looks nice, really, good enough for a small afternoon date, so he grins triumphantly to himself, slips his shoes on, swipes his keys and phone and pads away to throw open his apartment door and enjoy the chilly breeze–

 

Except Iwaizumi's already standing there, looking more than surprised.

 

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa flounders, a little breathless. It's three minutes until one, however, so he allows his demeanour to melt into something far too smug while he leans against his door frame. "You're early."

 

"I was waiting until one to knock," is Iwaizumi's stiff reply. He jams his hands into his coat pockets, turns his head so he's looking elsewhere. "Since you said you wanted me here at one."

 

"Mm, but you got here before one, didn't you?"

 

"Shut up, stupid. Am I taking you to this place or not?"

 

"I'd certainly hope so," Oikawa retorts. He steps down, closes his door and flashes a winning smile; Iwaizumi doesn't look moved, so he takes the irritable student's hand and promptly begins leading him down the sidewalk. Iwaizumi's protests against the hand-holding are almost sadly short-lived. "What's your favourite colour, Iwa-chan?"

 

Iwaizumi sighs like he's annoyed, but Oikawa's hardly detoured. "If I had to pick, it'd be black. It's simple."

 

"Just like you."

 

" _What_ –"

 

"Don't take it as an insult, Iwa-chan," Oikawa giggles, glancing over just so he can catch Iwaizumi's look of offense. "Being simple is a good thing. Complex people are aggravating, aren't they?"

 

"Tell me about it," comes Iwaizumi's dry response, and Oikawa puffs his cheeks out.

 

"You're so abrasive. Shouldn't you be sweeter towards your date? _Romantic_?"

 

"It's not my strong suit," Iwaizumi admits. He sounds far too genuine, suddenly, and raises his free hand so he can card it through his own hair. Oikawa reads it as a nervous habit. "I'm not too great at it, but I'm gonna try."

 

Oikawa's chest flutters _hard_ ; he doesn't know why he's so deeply touched by Iwaizumi's sincerity, but it makes him grin too widely, and he's leaning over without a second thought. "Come here, Iwa-chan."

 

He presses a warm kiss to Iwaizumi's cheek long before the man even has the time to ask what he's doing. It lasts longer than Oikawa would care to admit, frankly, and when he pulls back with the same wide smile, he realises he's just as red as Iwaizumi is. 

 

It's not so ridiculous.

 

"That's romantic," he quips, clutches Iwaizumi's hand a little tighter than before while they walk. "Kisses are romantic. Red roses are, too, and so's cuddling during winter, and–are you even listening to me?"

 

"Not my strong suit," Iwaizumi repeats; his throat sounds tight and constricted, like he's trying to stave off a wave of embarrassment. Oikawa takes the time to inwardly give himself a pat on the back. He still holds the power to fluster, it seems.

 

"You don't have to worry about it. I've got more than enough beauty and romantic talent for the both of us."

 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, pushes out something about Oikawa being conceited, but they're still holding hands and the very edges of his cheeks haven't faded from scarlet. First dates aren't supposed to feel this comfortable, Oikawa thinks; they're supposed to be awkward, filled with bumbles and mishaps. He shouldn't be laughing, teasing Iwaizumi about the shy furrow in his brow that'll _definitely_ give him premature wrinkles, grinning just as crookedly when Iwaizumi says that it'd be his fault anyways. 

 

Maybe he just doesn't remember how pleasant first dates can be.

 

Maybe it's just Iwaizumi's presence. 

 

"I wanna know your favourite flavour of ice cream, too," Oikawa tells him once they're inside; the shoppe hadn't been far away, given it was nearly the same distance as his place of occupation, and he watches Iwaizumi shuffle further in and shrug his coat off with some amount of amusement. "This is my treat, so you have to tell me."

 

"I don't really have one," Iwaizumi replies, unsure. "I don't get sweets that often, so it's not something I've thought about."

 

Oikawa stares him down long and hard.

 

"You don't have a favourite flavour of ice cream?"

 

"No, I don't–what, is that some kind of sin to you?"

 

"Of course," Oikawa whines, loud enough to nearly cause a scene. He does it only to make Iwaizumi grumble in that endearing, caveman-like way of his. "Everyone should have a preference with their desserts. Mine's strawberry; it goes _so_ well with milk bread like you wouldn't believe and it's a good thing I'm an athlete because I'd be really unhealthy otherwise. Go sit down. I'm gonna get you a surprise treat."

 

For a moment, Iwaizumi looks like he wants to protest, but it dies down rather quickly when he concedes Oikawa is persistent as _hell_ and chooses to save himself the pain of annoyance while finding a table to sit at. 

 

Oikawa doesn't really pay attention to what he orders. It's something with a vanilla base but there's hot fudge and the picture looks really, really good; it doesn't look like a dessert that could be resisted in any way. It takes thirty seconds of mental preparation to remind himself not to pig out. He loves his sweets far too much, honestly, and he doesn't necessarily want Iwaizumi to figure out that they're his biggest guilty pleasure every other day just yet. 

 

Only when he's prepared himself to avoid saying anything stupid does he go to sit down in front of Iwaizumi, shrugging his coat off and laying it beside him.

 

He stares his date down with a bright smile, mouth curling at the edges, and Iwaizumi looks apprehensive.

 

"What's that look for?"

 

"Nothing," Oikawa replies, short and curt, followed swiftly by, "I haven't been on a date in ages, and it's refreshing to go out with someone so handsome."

 

"You haven't been on a date in ages," Iwaizumi repeats. His tone's laced with heavy disbelief, mouth set in perpetual frown. "I don't believe it."

 

"And why's that?"

 

"You're pretty," he answers, and maybe it's blunt, because Oikawa flushes–and Iwaizumi's swift to follow. "I mean. The sort of guy that'd get asked out on dates a lot."

 

"I do get asked out. My answer's always no," Oikawa retorts. He smiles again, props his cheek in his hand. "You're the first person worthy of dating I've seen in a while."

 

"What makes me so different?"

 

Oikawa doesn't know, truth be told. He watches Iwaizumi cautiously, lips a little parted while he tries to think of a proper answer. Everything makes him different, he wants to say. Iwaizumi's handsome, he's shown him concern, some _fondness_. 

 

"Everything," he settles on as a short answer. "You seem really amazing to me, Iwa-chan."

 

Their ice cream's brought to them, and their conversation melts into something lighthearted and pleasant. Oikawa finds out that Iwaizumi is in his last year of college. He likes agedashi tofu and action movies with just a dash of romance, and he smiles just a teensy bit when speaking about those things. The crinkle it gives his eyes makes Oikawa feel like he's in love, and he hasn't even known him for a week. It's brought up that Iwaizumi's wanted to be a doctor of some kind since he was a little kid, and Oikawa laughs when he's told stories of little Iwa-chan attempting to operate on sick bugs he believed were ill. He also finds out Iwaizumi really doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, as his serving of ice cream proves to be too rich for him. Oikawa has to finish it off, and Iwaizumi says a food choice like that suits him well. It's an odd compliment, but he's happy to take it. 

 

"I'm glad I had to flirt with you for a dare," Oikawa says as they're leaving and finding the sidewalk. He's taken Iwaizumi's hand (again) but his other hand is occupied with an ice cream cone he hadn't been able to resist from ordering. So much for not pigging out on the first date. Iwaizumi doesn't really seem to mind. 

 

"A dare?" Iwaizumi asks, glancing over with what looks like the beginnings of irritation. "That's what spurred you coming over and talking to me? I feel like I oughtta be offended."

 

"Oh, don't be. You're very attractive, Iwa-chan. I would have refused the dare otherwise."

 

Iwaizumi deadpans, but Oikawa's wearing such a wide, breathtaking smile that it's hard to stay agitated. He doesn't even feel agitated in the first place. It's a front of sorts, one that matches his personality well. He wants to know Oikawa better, know more about him. 

 

They walk back to Oikawa's place in a peaceful silence that's occupied with the taller of the two finishing off his ice cream cone. He slurps a little, but again, Iwaizumi doesn't seem to mind. The lack of pressure to make himself appealing is almost unnerving, and he's absolutely loving it.

 

By the time they're at Oikawa's front door, he's reluctant to leave Iwaizumi to go inside. He wants to offer walking around town, maybe, but not for the first date. A textbook first date is ideal; small, short, cutesy. They're both leaving incredibly interested in one another, and that's the idea. It feels warm, even in the dead of winter.

 

"Thank you," Oikawa speaks softly when he's up the steps to his door, looking at Iwaizumi with a fonder smile. "For taking me on that date, I mean."

 

"I want a second," Iwaizumi says. It's sudden, making Oikawa blink in surprise, but the man is swift to correct himself with a flush and tries to appear more calm about it. "You're really nice, and I'd like to take you somewhere else."

 

"I'll be working tomorrow. If you come talk to me after my shift's over, we can get something planned." Oikawa feels his heart racing ridiculously fast inside his chest, but he can't _help_ it. Iwaizumi alone makes him feel lightheaded. Smitten, even, and they still haven't known each other long at all. Maybe they're soulmates. It's stupid, but he entertains the thought for longer than necessary.

 

Iwaizumi shuffles a little, and the snow crunches beneath his shoes. "I'll be there," he says, glancing down before looking back up again with a barely-there smile. "Take care of yourself for the rest of today."

 

Oikawa promises that he will, and he's left stepping inside with a heart as light as air and a splitting grin, kicking his shoes off in the entryway to his apartment before taking the few steps needed to collapse atop his sofa with a blissful sigh. He's done it, he's gone on a first date that he's really enjoyed, really loved. Work tomorrow's already a blessing in his mind, too. He gets to see Iwaizumi either during it or at the end, and he can't possibly ask for more than that. 

 

"I really like him," he whispers to himself, flexing his own numbed fingers and staring at his hands. "I like him, and I think he likes me too."

 

Love's not even a priority to him yet. Not when he knows how much he likes Iwaizumi already. 

 

How long's the rest of his day going to feel when he has tomorrow to look forward to?

**Author's Note:**

> winter is the season of warm drinks and gay volleyboys ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
